


divine intervention

by bunot



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Feelings Realization, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24812182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunot/pseuds/bunot
Summary: He'll do the same thing he always does, the same thing he'll always do— puff his chest, throw a couple nasty punches, come out victorious in the end. Total knockout for any insecurities that plague that court.Years after graduation and amidst their own personal destinies, Atsumu and Kita meet again.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 24
Kudos: 215





	divine intervention

**Author's Note:**

> i'm such a sucker for both atsumu and kita's ways of viewing life that i rose up the challenge of alternating povs. unbetad and wholly self-indulgent. i love the idea of them being the balance in eachother's lives, but that might just be my sappy 3am self talking rn.

"when I am in your presence I feel life is strong   
and will defeat all its enemies and all of mine   
and all of yours and yours in you and mine in me"

\- Frank O'Hara

___________

The scent of mud is strong today. 

Shinsuke recognizes the deep earthy aroma throughout his early morning walk-through, despite the absence of sunlight in their corner of the world. At high noon everything will dry and crumble against him. But for now, there is simply lush land, where water has made its temporary residence. The smell lingers with him as he marches back to the house, where Granny is entertaining the neighbors in post-breakfast tea. 

"Shin-chan, come take a break and sit with us," she insists, hand ushering him inside after he removes his dirtied boots. "Fujiwara-san has many ideas to share today."

Shinsuke seethes at the name, but pushes himself up to walk inside.

"I'm just coming in to refill my water. I want to check on the weeds in the west corner." He adjusts the towel around his neck, turning into the kitchen.

"They looked pretty good to me, son," comes the voice of Fujiwara-san. He's wearing his hat pointed low today, and his wife sits next to him, chewing quietly on some sliced melon. 

"Ah, thank you," Shinsuke bows, though he can't help the rush of annoyance that overcomes him. He doesn't know why Granny still invests her time in these people.

"With the way you've been working, Maeda could easily sign you in," he continues.

"Pardon?"

"You met Maeda before, right Shinsuke?" He asks. 

"You might have not remembered. He came by to check up on the harvest the year you had the flu." Granny lifts the pot, still pouring him a cup despite his protests. Shinsuke takes it and sips out of courtesy. 

He thinks back. That season he was bed-ridden with a high fever, but he does remember a skittish man, balding and with glasses, in the kitchen with Granny. He had an expensive metal watch and wore a stiff black suit.

"Ah, he sounds familiar."

"He's an excellent resource, son. Knows how to commodify nearly anything," Fujiwara-san says, mouth full of sweet bread.

"Ren thinks we should invest in distributing to a packaging plant," his grandmother explains.

"A packaging plant?"

"Yup. It's how Atsuko and I got to be so stable now," he pats his wife on the shoulder and Shinsuke blinks. 

"We're moving out come September," she says.

"Have a great big house in the city now, and I'll be able to go back and forth," her husband explains. 

"It's great money." 

"I'll bet," Granny sighs wistfully. 

"I heard Maedo's been in touch with some restaurants in Osaka. Lot's of rice needed there."

Shinsuke looks to his grandmother, and then to the blemish on her cup, where the porcelain had chipped and rubbed the paint off.

It can't hurt to try, he supposes.

He pulls out a pen from his back pocket, and grabs the nearest piece of paper. It happens to be the envelope containing this month's electricity bill. Fujiwara-san is wearing a smile when Shinsuke looks up to speak. 

"Do you have the address of his office?"

___________

Atsumu likes to spend weekday nights in the living room. Pajama-clad on a Tuesday night, free from the stress of being a Division 1 setter, he finds monsoons terrifying.

Under the old quilt he's had since childhood, that one his mother knitted, he watches the same movies over and over again. Movies about ancient Roman gladiators that lead armies into battles and three-headed monsters that threaten entire villages. None of the art house dramas that Omi-kun recommends, because those only make him confused. These historically inaccurate action movies are soothing, especially the moments before the volcano erupts or rebel forces are depleted and they must retreat, when victory seems impossible, complete destruction inevitable.

Except now, when the movie buffers, loading screen at a permanent 37%. A groan escapes him, and he turns to check his phone. A text from Osamu, with the time stamp saying it delivered four minutes ago.

 **Samu:** _Can you turn the volume down._

He wordlessly hoists himself up from the couch to shut the TV off.

Immediately, he hears the telltale signs of a heated make out, and wants to vomit. 

Atsumu's used to it, the routine of using a phone flashlight to guide himself into his bedroom, which is actually the guest room, in the apartment occupied by his brother and former teammate. He focuses on humming loud enough that he can't identify the sounds coming from across the hall. 

Once he's safe inside, he goes to grab his laptop, laying on the desk right next to the pile of unopened mail.

It's bigger than it was yesterday, so he can only assume Sunarin dumped more into it. He sifts through and finds a thick piece of cardstock. It's red and black and glossy and printed on it is " _Thank you_ _Inarizaki Alumni_." He's about to toss it, realizing it's just another ad to get him to donate money, when he comes across the collage on the back. 

There's one small photo of the team from late 2012. He remembers it vaguely. It was after an intense pre-tournament practices, where Kita wanted them to take a photo together. They had all assumed it was some stupid prank, and yet it had turned out to be a best-selling image, with all the best-selling good looks of the Inarizaki volleyball club. 

In the photo, Atsumu is smiling wide, all the way to his eyes, pure unmasked joy. He has his left arm wrapped around Kita-san, whose jacket hangs from his shoulders and arms are crossed over the number one on his jersey. He looks stoic and brave, like a gladiator moments before a great battle. 

He hadn't heard from Kita-san in months. He had went on a calling spree after accepting the Jackals offer, wanting to notify all the Inarizaki members that those formative years had actually amounted to something. Kita was one of the calls, but he hadn't remembered it entirely. 

He hears a particularly loud groan coming from twenty feet away and drops the card down, shuffling to his bed with his laptop and earbuds. 

Once settled, he unpauses. He's at the scene when a side hero comes in with a ship and the survivors are ushered to safety, right before the Roman senate makes an optimistic statement about the future that revitalizes the protagonist's sense of hope. It's tacky but his brain loves all of it. _Oh shut up_ , he thinks, and rewinds back to the beginning when all the signs of impending doom were there and everyone but the hero chose to ignore them. 

___________

If historical rates are averaged, a language dies every four months.

Shinsuke learned this in college once, during a rather rigorous linguistic course in his second fall semester. It was when he had trouble deciphering between conditional and subjunctive conjugation and couldn't help but think how freeing it would be to dismantle all structures of written language because of it. How in the time it would take for a new sickle to be ordered and shipped and delivered, or for the proper preparation of harrowing and plowing fertile land, all the intricate words of a tongue will be extinct. He thought it was better to invest in a mode of communication that didn't involve words at all. 

And staring at the brochure in front of him, Shinsuke imagines there is nothing left to salvage.

He already came into this meeting hoping he would be on track to buying a new house, and yet, here he was, sitting in dress pants and a tie for Granny's sake, listening to this man drone on for almost an hour and a half now. No house in sight. Shinsuke thinks that those four weeks of unlearning the language of persuasive advertising would be nothing short of liberating-- an act of saving himself. 

"You see, I just think if we partner you up with these five distribution plants here it would be so much easier than you driving around to three separate prefectures." Maeda-san's finger means to point at the vague space of the brochure, but instead lands directly on the edge of a tall building and Shinsuke can't help but think this is a Freudian slip of the muscle.

"Right." 

"And you'll get plenty of customers on this side of Osaka, you know that."

"Of course."

"We'd be able to supply so many restaurants!"

There is a photo of a white couple kissing on the last page of the pamphlet. Shinsuke is blind. His metaphorical eye twitches. 

"But Maeda-san, I don't think I'm ready to start supplyin' to five different places."

"What do you mean?! It's only practical. You can't limit yourself to this area forever."

Shinsuke fights the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He's praying to the gods for just an ounce of extra patience to tackle Maeda-san's suggested logo (a rather terrifying looking bowl of rice with a cartoon face plastered on it), when his phone suddenly rings.

He takes it out from his back pocket to check. "ATSUMU", the screen reads, complete with the photo they took on the day of his graduation. Atsumu hasn't called him since, well, since he signed to that professional league team a few months ago. He has no idea what he'd want now, but something in him is pulling to know.

"I'm sorry. If you'll excuse me, I'll have to take this," Shinsuke looks to the older man with urgency.

"Of course, of course," he replies with the wave of a hand. "I'll work on transportation logistics."

Shinsuke thanks him and heads out of the small office, accepting the call right before he can enter the restroom. He lets out an exhale to his reflection in the mirror, then presses the phone to his ear. 

"Atsumu, is everythin' okay?"

 _"Kita-san!"_ Greets the voice on the other line, terrible and unforgiving, and Shinsuke's own shoulders fall lax again.

"Yes, I'm here. Why did you call?"

_"Kita-san, oh, there's so much to tell you! I'm at, uh, God what's this place called? I dunno, I'm at a fancy restaurant right now."_

Shinsuke blinks. He can't seem to remember today's date.

"Is it someone's birthday? Did I forget?"

_"What? No- no! It's not anyones birthday. 'Samu and Rin got ENGAGED."_

Shinsuke hears someone in the background hollering. It sounds a lot like the caller's brother. He finds himself smiling and leaning against the sink counter. Finally, a wedding. He'll have to tell Granny later.

"That's wonderful news. Please relay my congratulations to them."

_"Of course I will! You should've been here, Kita-san. He was goin' on a rampage makin' rice balls this morni-"_

It's at that moment Maeda-san barges into the bathroom, still holding his godforsaken proposal. Shinsuke taps the mute button on his phone and whips his head around.

"Maeda-san?"

"Look, Kita! I figured it out. With harvest season coinciding with the-"

 _"Kita-san? Kita-san?"_ Atsumu's drunken voice carries into the room, despite the fact that he is not on speaker phone. Maeda-san is still speaking, and the air in the room feels like a billion sheets of paper stacked on Shinsuke's chest. 

Something in him snaps and it is shaped a lot like patience. The words come tumbling out in a hot garbage heap.

"I'm sorry, Maeda-san. This is a very important call and I just got news and will, um, need some time to be updated on what is going on." 

He watches the man's jaw fall, and then pick itself back up.

"I- yes, of course, I apologize. Take all the time you need."

His chest rises and falls at a rapid pace as the business suit steps backwards and out of the restroom, coaxing the door closed behind him. Shinsuke puts a palm to his forehead, walking into a stall and locking himself in. Something in his chest flutters open, and it feels a lot like unforeseen nostalgia. He presses the button to unmute. 

"Atsumu? Are you still there?"

_"Ah, Kita-san! I thought you left for a second! Is everythin' okay? Are you busy right now?"_

He worries his lip, but only for a moment. To hell with Maeda-san and his distributing plant. 

"I'm sorry about that. No, I'm not busy."

_"Oh okay! That's good."_

"Mm, yes. So, continue with the engagement." 

___________

After any period of exercise, it's always the area below Atsumu's collarbones that need to be stretched out. He assumes it's the compression of his shoulders when he sets, but it's ended up being a lot of different things. His athletic trainer had once taught him to bring a tennis ball wherever he went, so he could stretch on the go, and it was especially helpful during post-practice dinners.

"Miya are you going to order or are you just going to keep rubbing your pectoral muscles?"

"Huh? Oh! Sorry," he puts the tennis ball down and picks up the menu, eyes scanning for the miso option. "A number seven please."

The waitress nods and leaves, and Omi-kun goes back to his silent observation. A few feet away, the evening band has finished setting up and is beginning to start their set. 

"You okay? Sure you didn't pull anything'?" Bokuto asks, voice laced with genuine concern.

"Nah, I'm fine- I'm great! Excited for Saturday." He bends his elbows up and makes a few arm circles.

"Me too!" Hinata chimes in, a little tipsy after only two bottles. He leans forward to grab the tennis ball and hold it like a sacred object.

Atsumu nods. "Omi-omi, excited to play yer cousin again, huh?" 

Atsumu watches Omi-kun glare at him, eyebrows furrowing down even further. "I'm just excited to see the actual talent that came from Inarizaki." 

"You'll see it because it's on yer team!" Atsumu slams the table with his fist. 

Hinata jumps, sending the tennis ball up and then back into his palms. "I'm nervous," he admits. 

"Why?!" Bokuto demands, still concerned.

"It's just that, well the Raijins have three wins now."

"Shouyou. So do we." 

Omi-kun's eyes squeeze shut for a moment and then open again, pained. It's then Atsumu feels something shaking in his left pocket, and pulls out his phone. 

His eyes widen at the sight of "KITA-SAN'' complete with the photo they had taken together at Atsumu's graduation. He hadn't expected this would be a recurring experience. 

"Who is it? Who is it?" Hinata's hands grab at the edge of his sleeve. 

"Huh? Oh, no one. It's okay. Everyone, give me a second."

He looks to the exit, but the crowd of people dancing has doubled now, blocking off the exit. The phone is still vibrating, and in fear of it stopping, he presses accept. 

"Hello?" 

All eyes at the table land on him. 

_"Oh, Atsumu! Finally."_

"Mm? What's, uh, what's goin' on?"

 _"Nothing bad, nothing bad."_ A pause. _"How are you? You haven't called since the engagement."_

Atsumu freezes. The engagement… That was at least a week ago. No, today was Wednesday. A week and a half. And he was definitely drunk that night, and Kita definitely knew, but he decides to also play dumb.

"I- I'm sorry. I've been meanin' to call again but, uh, stuff's been coming up." 

Heat floods his cheeks, and Omi-kun's eyebrow shoots up in demonic interest. "Who _is_ that?"

The softness in Kita's voice fades away. _"Well I hope we can talk later, but I do need your help right now."_

Over the line, he hears the rustling of papers, and then loud clopping footsteps. 

"What do you need?"

_"Do you happen to have your brother's personal phone number?"_

At this, Atsumu's eyes widen. "What do you need 'Samu's number for?"

"OSAMU?" Hinata stands up.

"Calm down," Sakusa is pulling him back down, fearing they've already made quite the scene.

_"Who was that? Are you busy right now?"_

"Huh? Oh, that was just Hinata. We're eating dinner together."

 _"Oh. Well, I wanted to congratulate the two but the truth is I also wanted to talk to inquire about your brother's rice supplier."_

"Rice supplier?"

_"Yes, I just wanted to see if I could get advice from an actual peer."_

"Oh." He swallows. He wants to tell Kita-san that he doesn't even think his brother _has_ a proper rice supplier at the moment. He's seen Sunarin come home from the supermarket with regular bags in bulk. But, then again, maybe Osamu will be able to help him anyways. "Alright."

Atsumu goes number by number, and then repeats it for the man over the line to write down. 

_"Thank you very much, Atsumu."_

It only then dawns on him that Hinata has been beside him silently this whole time, staring at the contact name with the same concentration he had an hour ago on the court. Atsumu turns to the smaller boy, and his eyes widen like he has just solved an impossible riddle. 

_"Alright, I have to go. I will call you again soon."_

The call ends before he can get another word in. He is already missing the sound of Kita's voice.

"You're-You're dating your former CAPTAIN?" Hinata jumps up again like a toddler, except one with the body mass of a large mammal, and even Omi-kun can't get all that muscle back into its seat. 

"What??!" He sputters.

"You're dating Kita-san!" 

"Why are you saying that?!" Atsumu yells, and Omi-kun is groaning at the noise levels again.

"Wait a second…." Bokuto drawls.

"I'm right! I'm right! I win!" Hinata cheers, face red by now. 

"You heard what 'Tsumu said! That's how Akaashi and I talk. They probably call on a whim like that all the time."

Atsumu does not want to point out that Bokuto that he and Akaashi are not a proper point of reference for romantic relationships, but rather for miracles. Instead, he continues spluttering. 

"No- it's not, we're just friends."

"I can't believe this!" Hinata still goes on. "Since when? Were you dating in high school?!"

"Hinata, I just said-"

"You should invite him to the game, anyways," Sakusa interrupts, "Suna will be there, too."

It's like throwing gasoline on a trashcan fire, and all hell breaks loose.

"Yeah, you should!" Bokuto agrees. 

"Oh, please!! I haven't seen Kita-san in ages!"

"You don't even know his full name, Hinata!" 

Atsumu watches the two shout over each other again as Omi-kun pulls out his disinfectant in defeat, spraying the plates in front of them. This only causes Hinata to yelp louder. 

"I haven't seen him in a while either," he says, though it sounds a lot like an afterthought in the grand chaos of the scene.

He decides not to engage anymore. Hinata and Bokuto will probably forget in tomorrow's hangover, and it's not like Omi-Kun to care too much about his personal life.

Instead, he focuses on the soft thought of _missing_ someone, and watches the featured band play for about another twenty minutes. For the most part, nearly everything about their songs are the same- quick, intense, and deafeningly loud. 

Maybe he will invite Kita-san, just to see him again. He has no idea how he would be able to get to Osaka in that old truck but it shouldn't hurt to try. The drummer kicks up a new beat and the rest of them follow- wholistically awful, but hopeful it will be okay in the end. 

___________

The rush of breakfast has long died down when Shinsuke is washing his last utensil and the screen door swings open. He looks over to see Granny slouching in. She walks in, shaking her head at something that seems to have occurred outside, However, she looks at him amused, with a glint in her eye.

"Well, it looks like we don't have to worry about that mice problem today."

"That's good."

"I'm gonna head to the market, then."

"Alright."

"Maybe we can watch some volleyball highlights, have a little party tonight!" She moves her arms as if to indicate dancing.

At this, Shinsuke's shoulders tense. "Granny, I can't. I have another meeting with Maeda-san tomorrow."

At this, she looks shocked. "You do?"

"At ten in the mornin'."

"You're going back there?"

"Well, yes," He pauses, tries to put on an expressionless face as he dries his hands on the rag. "Our other one was cut short, and he wanted to reschedule." 

"Shinsuke," she starts, and he knows the mask was no use. She could see through it all. "An overworked body is as good as dead."

"I know." His mouth feels dry as he turns to the cabinet, pulling out the sweet rolls and sugar. "I'm not overworkin' myself."

"Then what is this all about?"

His fingers linger on the cabinet handle. "We need to start branching out somewhere." 

"Oh, for crying out loud."

"What?"

"If you're trying to prove somethin' to Fujiwara, don't."

"I'm not!" The idea of giving up his place here is insane. "I just-" He stops. Gathers himself. "I want to be satisfied with my work."

"And you _should,_ Shin," she presses each syllable into the air like a slap. "Every curve of your hand in that field means something. You don't need a businessman to tell you that."

He lets go of the handle and spins to face her. "Well, at the end of the day, that businessman may have the money to fix all of our mice problems for the rest of our lives." 

Her brow furrows immediately. He wants to say something else, to apologize and soften, but decides against it. She retreats into the hallway and heads toward her room. He puts the sweet rolls and sugar back and goes to check the time on his phone. It's 9:14 AM, and he has a recent text from Atsumu.

 **Atsumu:** _Kita-san! Are you free t_ _omorrow?_

He nearly fumbles his phone, gripping onto it as he makes his way to his own room. He can't imagine what Atsumu must want now.

 **Kita:** _What for?_

He watches the dots light up immediately.

 **Atsumu:** _There's a game in Osaka tomorrow against Raijins._

Shinsuke's eyebrows raise. Suna's team. The three dots light up again, and then disappear. After a moment, his phone suddenly shakes. He picks up within two rings. 

"Hello?"

 _"Kita-san, hey."_ Atsumu sounds slightly out of breath, but sober. 

"Hello Atsumu," He manages to keep his voice steady. "How are you?" 

_"I'm doin' okay. You said you wanted me to call more often, so here I am,"_ he lets out a small humorless laugh.

Shinsuke goes to sit on his bed and stare at the wall, where a photo of them from his third year hangs. In it, Atsumu is smiling wide, all the way to his eyes, one arm wrapped around Shinsuke and the other around Aran. They look saintly. 

"I did."

He hears a shaky inhale of breath. A pause. Then, an exhale. 

_"Oh, yeah so. Sunarin and I are playin' against each other tomorrow."_

"I saw."

_"And I was, uh, hoping you could come and watch. I already got a ticket so money won't be a problem. I can even, uh, pay you gas money if you'd like. It's at ten thirty."_

Tomorrow. At ten thirty. 

"Atsumu..."

_"'Samu's gonna be there too, so you can talk to him about yer rice stuff in person."_

"Atsumu, I-," he closes his eyes. Opens them. "Unfortunately I don't know if I can make it."

_"Huh?"_

"I have an important business meeting tomorrow."

_"Business meeting?"_

"With someone who is helping me find a packaging plant."

_"Oh."_

The noise on the other side goes completely silent. It doesn't sound right at all. 

"I'm sorry, Atsumu," he manages. "If I'm able to make the next one I promise I will."

 _"Don't worry about it,"_ he replies, but it sounds so pained Shinsuke chastises himself for it. _"Look I, we gotta get going with drills. But I'll- I'll see you around."_

There is no soon. 

"Right. Goodbye, Atsumu."

_"Bye, Kita-san."_

Shinsuke waits for the call to end, still staring at the old photo of them. Even minutes after the phone is still pressed to his ear, but all he can hear is the sound of the clouds breaking.

___________

That night, Osamu serves dinner in the kitchen, while Atumu and Sunarin perched on the stools at the counter. 

"I saw you moved your car. Did you drive?"

"It killed an hour." Atsumu spears a pearled onion with his fork, and brings it up to chew slowly. 

Suna swiftly dissects his entire pork steak, slicing the meat into evenly sliced pieces, extracting the bits of fatty gristle and setting them on the rim of his china plate. "The new marinade is good, honey."

Atsumu knows it was a set-up, something to get him fake gagging and complaining about the color of the groomsmens ties.

He almost indulges them, but wants to milk out the concern a little more. 

He waits until Osamu sits down with them before he speaks. "Tell me that western story again, about Castor and Pollux."

Of all ancient myths this is his favorite. Castor had a gift for taming horses, Pollux was an able boxer. Twin brothers, inseparable. It was written once that no mortal might know one from the other. Famed adventures, they fought with Jason and the Argonauts.

Eventually, Castor was slain in battle, and the heartsick Pollux begged to give his own immortality in exchange. He struck a compromise with Zeus. The brothers would alternate-- one day in the underworld, the next with the gods.

As Osamu finishes his story, he fetches two bottles of rice sake from the back of the fridge. 

"I don't believe any of that shit," Sunarin says, watching him pour a cup for each of them.

"You don't need to, with your thunderstorms and all," Osamu says with a faint smile. Again, more crumbs for sad Atsumu. It's pathetic. He wants out. 

"Sunarin, how did you know you wanted to spend the rest of yer life with this fool?" Atsumu asks.

His brother doesn't say a word, but Atsumu sees the corners of his lips tug up in a smile as he puts the bottle back and stands at the other end of the counter.

"You know I hate living with my mom," he smiles, moving another piece of fat to the side.

"You can always live with us, too, 'Tsumu," his brother chimes in. "You know that."

"I know."

"I'll order another apron for you, too."

"I'm never chaining my life to you and yer damn rice balls," he says, finally stabbing a piece of meat. "That's Sunarin's problem now.

Suna's head raises up at this, and then laughs. It lifts something off Atsumu's chest. Maybe he's being a bit too melodramatic, he decides. This underworld time will pass. They have a game tomorrow. He will be okay.

___________

"I'm leaving now," Shinsuke announces to the kitchen, where Granny is organizing the cupboard china.

He had spent quite a while deciding what to wear, and settled on the same dress pants but a different button-up shirt, this one light green. 

"Shinsuke you are not going out with your hair this unkempt," she tsks, reaching forward to brush a few strands out of his eyes.

Her shaky fingers are soft against his forehead, always have been. He closes his eyes at the gentle touch.

"Do you want me to pick up lunch on the way home?" His eyes open to meet a wide smile, crinkling at the corners of her eyes. 

"No, no, no. I'll take care of lunch myself. You just have fun," She winks. 

He pulls away and holds her at arms-length. "Are you alright?"

"Of course!" She replies, and pats his cheek. "Say hi to Atsumu for me."

  
"Huh?" He stills.

"Shin-chan, you and I both know you're not going to that dreadful meetin'," her eyes sparkle and he feels them beam through him. 

"But-"

"There are no buts," she shakes her head, knowingly. "'Been smiling ever since I've mentioned that boy's name."

Shinsuke's mouth twitches, self-conscious of its own betrayal now. He doesn't know what to say, so she continues for him.

"Chase what makes you happy, Shinsuke. There are only so many pleasant things in this mortal life."

His hold on her softens, and he brings his left hand up to cup hers.

He could be the strongest man in the world, with a custom made suit and briefcase and four million yen in his left pocket, and she would still know more secrets of the universe than he could ever fathom. 

"Don't forget to wear your boots today. I saw 'nother report on the water parasites." He pulls away. 

"I will," she replies, and he nods, grabbing his keys and phone to pocket them.

He's out the door and nearly halfway to the truck when she calls out again from the doorway. Her small body is radiating pure light. 

"Shin-chan!"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget to take pictures."

"I won't."

"I'm makin' a scrapbook for _your_ wedding next." 

"What?"

The door slams closed, and all the light drains away. Shinsuke finally lets out a groan, but he is smiling again, warm and unforgiving. 

___________

Atsumu was right. Things were looking up. The plan is simple: Win the game, then scream in victory in the locker room, maybe go to one or two press interviews, and end the night with a group dinner and a good deep sleep where he's so knocked out he can't hear Sunarin and Osamu making out in the room across the hallway. 

He pulls his knee-pads out from his backpack and watches Omi-kun complete his pre-game wrist stretches on the yoga mat rolled out in front of him. It's almost like meditating, the way his hands curve in and out, and Atsumu has to look away sometimes in fear he's invading a personal space. 

He turns to the man beside him instead. "You ready today?"

In his sober state, and on the best days, Hinata is nothing short of pure electricity, the sun incarnate himself. He grants Atsumu the gift of a smile so bright it could single handedly blind. "Yep. You?" 

Atsumu nods. The energy that flows is collected, fierce enough that Pollux-sama himself could fear them. He'll do the same thing he always does, the same thing he'll always do-- puff his chest, throw a couple nasty punches, come out victorious in the end. Total knockout for any insecurities that plague that court. 

"Always."

___________

Something about being in the audience of a volleyball game again is revitalizing. 

He had been so used to watching in high school, with the clumsy movement of high school bodies and boys adjusting to puberty. It was painful most days and impressive sometimes, but it took a lot of investment to get excited.

Here, in an actual stadium gym, nothing can compare to the way Shinsuke's heart beats against his chest. These are warriors of a sport in front of him, fully fledged men with all the passion and all the muscle to prove it. 

He has been quietly observing the dynamics of both sides of the net. Despite his team's low scoring, Sunarin has improved greatly. He'd been able to rotate his entire torso in a mid-air spike.

They're starting the third set now, and if the Jackals win it'll be a sweep. The Raijins serve first, but it's not powerful enough to prevent a receive from even Sakusa Kiyoomi and his terrifying wrists. The ball bounces off him and goes up, spinning. 

"Miya!" Hinata calls, and Shinsuke's eyes follow Atsumu as he plants himself on the polished linoleum, knees bent just slightly before his arms come up in perfect bend.

The ball falls right into his fingers and he sets like something celestial, like the gods are watching and this is his last chance to prove the corporeal form worthy.

It's a simple harnessing motion of the body, Shinsuke thinks, and it's even more breathtaking than before.

Hinata slams the ball down as a straight, nearly inches away from the out-of-bounds line. When he falls back to the ground, he lands just as steady as he started, rock solid and shining. The crowd erupts with cheer, and Shinsuke finds himself clapping along, just as fired-up as the rest of them. 

___________

They win like he said they would. 

He's high off a million endorphins, and he can't wait to go home and rub it in Sunarin and Osamu's faces.

In the locker room, the post-game chaos has already begun. Towels and water bottles are being passed out, and the trainers have come in to exam them one last time before sending them off to their celebration.

Atsumu stumbles onto the nearest bench and takes a long gulp of water. He looks up and sees Bokuto standing in the corner of the locker room. He has his hands up, elaborately explaining something to the man across from him. This man just happens to be Akaashi, who is holding a to-go box with two of Samu's rice balls, one salted salmon and the other pickled plum. He's munching away, happily nodding to his boyfriend.

The feeling in his chest isn't exactly jealousy. He's too sedated and content with the day for that type of hatred. It's more like longing, mixed with a little personal defeat. Like he won the war but lost something dear to him. He pushes the thought away. He wants to leave the drama to the Greeks. 

Omi-kun comes to sit next to him, and it's a strange comfort.

"Good work today, Miya," he says.

"You too, Omi-Omi."

"Do you happen to know where Hinata went?"

He scans the locker room. No sign of orange hair on a muscled man.

"No, I haven't seen him," he replies, and goes to take off his left knee pad. 

___________

"Kita-san!!!" He hears, and his head whips around even though he knows the voice does not belong to Atsumu. It's been about twenty minutes since the game ended, and people are still filing out of the stadium. He hasn't gotten up from his seat in hopes of someone coming to him. And here he is, met by the owner of the victory shot himself. 

"Hello, Hinata. Congratulations."

"Thank you," he bows, and his sweaty hair flops forward. "Do you want me to take you to him?"

"Huh?"

"Atsumu-san! You're here to see him, right?"

"Well-" He begins, but stops. "Yes. Yes, I am." 

Hinata offers a hand to help him up. He can't help but wonder if this is what Granny must feel like. Being revered like an old mystical creature. 

"You must have come a long way," he ushers Shinsuke out of the stands and down the stairs. 

"The drive wasn't that bad," he assures. "Hinata, how did you know I was here?" 

"I saw you while I was checking the stands before the game."

Shinsuke steps over a spilled can of soda."Do you check the stands before every game?" 

It's Hinata's turn to be embarrassed. Shinsuke can't see his face, but the orange-haired man has brought his hand up to rub the nape of his neck. They make their way to the floor, and he sees him smile sheepishly.

"Usually. I was looking for someone myself."

Shinsuke smiles. "Oh." 

Neither of them press any further. 

"I can take you back to the locker room."

'The locker room?"

"Yeah. He'll be there. He's usually the last one to leave."

"Right now?"

"Yes!" Hinata offers out his elbow, and Shinsuke takes it gingerly. They make their way into a narrow hallway. The floor is covered in forest green carpet and the wall decorated with frames of people Shinsuke could never name. It's a little crowded, with bodies walking up and down. 

"How did you know I came to see Atsumu?"

"Well... I thought he invited you?"

Kita nods. "He did."

"He likes you a lot."

At this, Shinsuke's leg buckles. He tries to press on, keeping up with the pace of the athlete next to him. 

"Did he tell you that?"

"No," Hinata says, but his voice doesn't falter. "I just know."

They turn the corner into a large circular room and Shinsuke decides that he is tired of everyone knowing and knowing. He wants the knowledge, too. 

A man with a trimmed moustache is there, flanked by two pissed off bodyguards and a medic of some sort. Maybe an athletic trainer, Shinsuke thinks, seeing as she's dressed in all black. 

"Okimoto-san, hello!" Hinata greets. The moustached man smiles. 

"Oh hello, Hinata. Good game."

"Thank you."

Someone sneaks by Shinsuke to pat Hinata on the back in congratulation. Another looks at them and asks, "Would you like water?" Shinsuke begins to shake his head no when he hears his name being called.

"Kita-san?"

He whips his head to the sound and there's Atsumu, sitting next to Sakusa Kiyoomi on a bench in the corner of the room. He's holding a tennis ball, still wearing his jersey, and sporting his newly styled hair. 

They stand there, staring at each other. Shinsuke forgets about a potential audience, all these muscular men and their noise, forgets he even had anything to say. He just wants to look at Atsumu. His golden boy. He's so handsome up close and it's entirely distracting but he's here and Shinsuke came here to see him and he's stupidly proud of himself.

"Hello, Atsumu." 

"You came."

"I did." 

He puts down the tennis ball and stands up, his face shiny with sweat and surprise at Shinsuke's arrival. He looks wonderful, even if the height he's grown to now shocks him.

Slowly, his bewilderment fades, and what replaces it is a shy smile. Shinsuke searches that expression, tries to analyze it like the water levels of a soggy wheat grain, determine if Atsumu is self-conscious because of all these people or overcome at the sight of him.

"Your hair..." Atsumu says. 

Shinsuke smiles. "Do you like it?"

He's joke flirting. Where strangers can hear. Atsumu and him at the center of this strange locker-room whirlwind, and it's strangely excellent. 

These people he doesn't even know are surrounding them, and maybe even the gods of religions he cannot name are watching this scene unfold like they are actually invested in what happens.

And of course that is why both of them are stuck. Because what happens next matters.

So Shinsuke forfeits and starts to reach for him. 

"There's- come here," Atsumu says when he finally reaches him. He grabs his wrist, leading them back into that cramped hallway, then makes a beeline for the next empty room, which has a single foldable table and a small bookcase of trophies.

He locks the door and turns to look at Shinsuke.

"What did Hinata say about me?"

"Well..." Shinsuke smiles. "At least Granny's scrapbook won't go to waste now."  
  
"Huh?" Atsumu's eyebrows furrow and Shinsuke suppresses the urge to raise his fingers and smooth the wrinkles there. His forehead is still shining with sweat, the evidence of a well-earned victory.

"He didn't tell me anything."

"Are you sure? Because it looked like you two were in cahoots and I don't know I entirely trust his wildness and yer secretiveness." Another bead of sweat rolls down his temple. 

"Alright," Shinsuke caves. "I was told somethin'." 

"I knew it! What did he say? Was it somethin' about the last set because I didn't-"

"Atsumu," he declares, because he is tired of waiting for something in his life to feel fulfilling. He wants to grab it himself.

The man in front of him freezes. "Yes?"

"Do you have feelings for me?"

"What?" Atsumu blinks and Shinsuke knows all these signs too well, eyes still locked on the man in front of him.

"I'm askin'," he brings his hand up to cup the side of Atsumu's face, palm pressed against his cheek. He traces the pad of his finger against the skin there, "If you like me."

"Well-" The taller man trips over his syllables. "I mean, yes. Of course I do." Eyes close, then open. "I've liked you for a while, Kita-san."

"Well, good. Because I like you too."

"What?" It's a good thing the door is locked, he thinks. Even at the age of twenty-three this boy still yells like a shocked teenager. 

"I like you, Atsumu."

"You- you do?"

"I don't see the need in repeatin' myself a third time," he says, but it's all teasing.

Atsumu is still taken aback. "Since when?"

"What do you mean?"

"Since when have you liked me?"

Shinsuke is at his wit's last end.

"I only discovered it when you called about the engagement," he runs his finger against the skin right above Atsumu's pulse. "But I think I've liked you before I even had the language to express it." 

At this, Atsumu doesn't laugh. He doesn't joke. In normal circumstances he would, but Shinsuke knows he's running on a different kind of energy. This one is dense and bright and blinding.

It pulls the distance between them away, until Atsumu presses his lips against Shinsuke's in a kiss.

It's sweet and lingering. Atsumu's tongue sweeps against the seem of his mouth and his nervous energy transforms into pure passion again. Shinsuke can't get enough. 

When they pull away, the taller boy's warm breath ghosts over his open mouth, and it leaves him in a strange stroke of awe trying to calculate what he wants to say next. But Atsumu, ever perfect in the new moment, beats him to it.

"So, does this mean you'll be my date to the wedding?"

___________

Atsumu wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, and then goes to undo his apron before hanging it up and walking to the back kitchen.

It's a busy day at Onigiri Miya, but he takes a break to follow the sound of boxes being unloaded. Never would he think shipment day would be this exciting. 

He catches sight of Kita beside the big unloading truck, talking to a woman holding a clipboard. Next to him is his brother. They look engrossed in conversation, and that's exactly why Atsumu decides to walk up to them.

"Anything I can help you with, ex-Miya and future Miya?"

He sees Kita's eyes shift into a small glare, but his boyfriend's arm begins to wrap around his waist, light and reassuring. It was worth it.

"You're useless, even in a business transaction," Osamu deadpans, taking the clipboard to sign his name.

"We're just finishin' up," Kita agrees, taking it next. 

Atsumu peers at the fine print. It all feels like a foreign language to him, but it's okay because he has doubt two of the most capable men in his life know exactly what they're doing. Kita hands the clipboard back to the lady and Atsumu kisses his temple.

"Alright. Thank you Miya-san, Kita-san. This means that you'll be able to see each other twice a month, now." And with that her heels clop all the way back to the black sedan parked behind the unloading truck.

"Not like we won't see each other already," Osamu smiles softly at the two. "Rin and I will be yer place this weekend for dinner anyways." 

"But now we'll have the best rice in the whole country to sell!" Atsumu exclaims, releasing Kita to shoot his arms up in the air. He can't help but thank the sky, the gods, whoever is watching this unfold and blessing him. 

"Will you stop being so stupid," Osamu says. 

He feels a palm smack against his head, and he curls forward. "OW."

Kita is laughing now, loud and unashamed. Osamu walks back to the front of the store to help out his fiance, leaving the two of them in the back parking lot, where the clouds continue to move across the sky. 

"It's pretty today," Kita says, looking up but slipping his fingers into Atsumu's palm. He smiles, and interlocks them, shoulder leaning against the shorter man. 

"Yeah," he agrees, inhaling until it fills his lungs.

It must be nice for Pollux-sama, he thinks. The idea of belonging to both places at once. The first breath of air he takes when he escapes the underworld and ends up under the eyes of a million gods, and the exhale he lets out when he comes back down, free from the blinding stage lights. 

**Author's Note:**

> new atsukita which is a love letter to ch 402 [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418509) :D


End file.
